


Light of My Forge

by celedan



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Everybody Lives, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Stubborn Dwarves, The Bravery of Hobbits, pining for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celedan/pseuds/celedan
Summary: What if Bilbo had woken just a few minutes earlier during the Battle of the Five Armies? To the sight of Azog standing over Thorin? It would have made all the difference, wouldn't it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is borrowed from a Thorin/Bilbo fanfic (I really can't remember which, sorry) where somebody, I think it was Thorin, says that his significant other is the light of his forge. I thought this really sweet, and simply so dwarvish that I had to make a story out of it.  
> Enjoy.

Groaning, Bilbo came to. Oh, Yavanna, his head hurt something fierce. But then he supposed he was lucky that he did wake up again in the first place.

He blinked disorientated, and sat up to look around. He groaned in pain for sitting up that fast had been a bad idea. Gingerly, he took in his surroundings. There was no sight of Dwalin or, thank the Great Goddess, any orcs.

And then he remembered.

Fili.

A sudden pain tore through his heart when he thought of the fallen prince.

And then it hitched a beat for a moment because thinking of Fili made him think of Thorin. Thorin, who had stormed after Azog in revengeful rage!

Stubbornly ignoring the blazing pain in his head, Bilbo jumped up, swayed for a moment, and then sprinted off after Thorin, Sting grabbed tightly in his shaking fingers.

He didn't have to look for long because only a short distance away, he stopped abruptly again. The sight that presented itself made his blood go cold in his veins. There, on the frozen river was Thorin. The king was held down by Azog who bore down on him with the blade that was attached to the stump of his arm. Thorin had raised Orcrist to counter the attack, but even from his watching point, Bilbo saw how fiercely he struggled. He wouldn't hold on for much longer.

Without thinking what he was doing, without even a scrap of a plan, he ran.

 

Thorin barely dared to breath lest it disrupted his concentration. He felt his strength slipping, and he knew that he wouldn't leave Ravenhill alive. But that was all right. In the end, he'd done the right thing, had shaken off the gold sickness, and come to the aid of his kin. The only regret he had was having to part from this world without having spoken to Bilbo for a last time. He would sit in the Halls of his Ancestors, and forever bemoan that he didn't have had the chance to make amends. He'd wronged his hobbit who was, in fact, the most loyal of them all to him, had done what a true friend should do, had done for Thorin what was best for him by taking the Arkenstone. But now he would part from Bilbo without having the chance to say how sorry he was. His hobbit would never know what he meant to a stubborn, proud, undeserving dwarven king who was utterly humbled by the faith and friendship one little hobbit had shown him.

He looked Azog in the eye, reading clear triumph in the pale blue eyes as the orc recognised Thorin's impending surrender. He hated him even more for it.

But suddenly, for a split second, Azog's eyes widened. And then his weight was gone from Thorin, his blade slipped against Orcrist with a screech and to the side, embedding itself in Thorin's shoulder. He screamed, and then he grunted when the sharp blade was torn from his shoulder again.

Confused, he looked up through the pain at the white ork that tumbled to the side, crashing to the ice. Then, confusion turned to joy, turned to numbing panic when he saw what had distracted Azog so. No, not what, who. His burglar! Bilbo had once more shown his astonishing bravery in throwing himself selflessly at Azog to save Thorin for the second time in their acquaintance.

Azog, without looking what had attacked him, grabbed for the hobbit, and snatched him by the neck of his coat. With all his might, he hurled the smaller creature away, only Sting remained embedded in Azog's side where Bilbo had thrust the short blade. Thorin wanted to be sick at the loud crack with which Bilbo's head impacted with the sharp rocks, then he lay utterly still.

Rage so hot like nothing Thorin had ever known clouded his vision for a split second, and when he could see again, he gripped Orcrist tighter, and jumped up. He hurled himself at Azog, plunging the elven blade deeply into the orc's back, all the while feeling nothing but the white hot rage and despair.

Azog made a gurgling sound, then he crashed to his knees. Thorin twisted the blade for good matter, then he pulled it out, and swung it with his last remaining strength, once and for all ridding himself of his arch enemy by beheading him.

Thorin didn't care for the victory, didn't watch Azog's head rolling away. He only had eyes for Bilbo who lay so utterly, utterly still. He stumbled and slithered to the hobbit's side, discarded his heavy gloves for he suddenly had the overwhelming urge to touch his hobbit skin to skin, and gently cradled him in his arms.

“Bilbo,” he whispered, and lovingly stroked the dirty, blood matted curls. He froze when his hand came away wet and red with warm blood. “No, no, no, please, don't do this to me!” he urged frantically. “Please, wake up. Please.”

He knew he babbled nonsense, but he didn't care. The only thing Thorin desired in this moment was for Bilbo to be all right.

“You have to hold on,” he whispered frantically. “And do you know why? Because I love you, Bilbo Baggins. I should've said it earlier, and I know you won't ever love me back, not after ev'rything I've done to you in my madness, but I have to say it now. I would spend the rest of my life with you, forge you a crown and a throne for you to sit on at your rightful place by my side to rule over all of Erebor if you could ever want me. Together we would rebuild it, and give it back its former glory. I...”

Thorin broke off, his throat closing up with tears that threatened to choke him.

A sudden shrill cry let him look up, and he breathed a sigh of relief when a great form sailed down to him, and gracefully landed a few feet away.

“Gandalf!” he breathed with a heartfelt sigh. He'd never been happier to see the wizard. 

Gandalf, taking in the situation before his eagle had even landed, jumped from its back, and hurried to Thorin's side. He put his big hand on Bilbo's small forehead, and closed his eyes in concentration, all the while murmuring under his breath like he had done when Thorin had been wounded so badly after his first encounter with Azog. But unless himself, Bilbo didn't wake which send a cold spike of dread through Thorin. He looked frantically at Gandalf.

The wizard smiled reassuringly at him. “He will live. We need to take him back into the mountain to properly care for him though.”

Thorin nodded brusquely, and he just wanted to stand up with Bilbo in his arms when the loud clanking of iron-shod boots on the hard ice and Dwalin's rough shout made him stop abruptly. For in that moment everything else came back to him. Fili! Kili!

Sorrow almost as strong as his fear for Bilbo paralysed him, and with wide eyes he looked questioningly up at Dwalin.

His old friend was dirt-streaked and blood-splattered, mostly black orc blood, but apart from that he seemed fine. He looked seriously down at Thorin. “Kili is alive.”

Thorin breathed a quivering sigh of relief which almost made him light-headed.

“Nary a scratch, that brat,” Dwalin continued, and pulled a face. “Probably thanks to that elf of his.”

In that moment, Thorin was so happy that at least one of his nephews was alive that he would do everything in his power to support Kili's choice of mate if she wanted him in return, Thorin's own feelings on the matter be damned.

“Where is he?” He looked around for Kili with wildly-searching eyes, but he couldn't spot him anywhere.

Dwalin answered softly, “he and the elf have gone for Fili's body.”

That poured a shower of cold dread over him again, and he sobered suddenly. He nodded brusquely at Dwalin, then turned to Bilbo, and once more tried to stand up with him in his arms.

He sank back with a cry of anguish as blazing pain shot through his foot, almost making him drop his precious burden.

“Let me carry him,” Dwalin pleaded gruffly, but Thorin shook his head stubbornly.

“Thorin, don't be a fool,” he scolded him angrily. “You're hurt.” And his fierce eyes roamed shrewdly over Thorin's form, eventually coming to rest on Thorin's shoulder and then his foot.

Thorin gritted his teeth as now Gandalf as well started to try to persuade him not to be so thick-headed.

“Think of Bilbo,” Gandalf said sharply. “He's hurt. Being jostled around so much because you can't keep standing on your own two feet won't do him any good.”

Thorin didn't want to admit it, of course, but Gandalf was right. And no matter how pig-headed he was or wanted to be, Bilbo's well-being was the most important thing.

Therefore, he nodded jerkily, and allowed Gandalf to take the hobbit from his arms, and with a grunt, let himself be heaved up by Dwalin. “I'll take him again,” he stated when he limped to one of the waiting eagles.

Gandalf gave a gruff grunt which Thorin read as assent.

After he'd swung himself on the eagle's back with gritted teeth, Gandalf carefully lowered Bilbo once more into Thorin's arms.

“Keep a good hold of him.”

Thorin glared at the wizard who turned to his own eagle unfazed. He grunted in pain when the huge beast took up, clenching the fingers of his good arm in the soft feathers, and tightening his other arm around Bilbo's still form, stoically ignoring the pain.

The eagles sailed calm and gracefully down from Ravenhill to the gates of Erebor. While they flew over the battlefield, the battle gradually coming to an end, Thorin's guts clenched when he saw all his fallen brothers even from up here. Many, many orcs and other foul beasts, but much too many dwarves as well. The price had been too high, and all because of his foolishness and stubbornness – that he could admit now, he himself having paid heavily as well. That one of his nephews and the love of his life had survived was more than he deserved.

He was shaken from his bitter musings when the eagle landed in front of the ruined gates of Erebor. He wanted to rush forth, but he had to wait for Gandalf and Dwalin's eagles to land. He couldn't dismount safely without help, much as it pained him. With gritted teeth, he once more lowered Bilbo into Gandalf's arms who turned immediately to march with long strides into the mountain. Thorin limped along as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his foot stubbornly.

“Take him into the royal quarters,” he called after Gandalf. The wizard gave no sign that he'd heard him, but he slowed down to let Thorin show him the way. This spurred the king on even more to ignore his pain, and hurry. 

Leading Gandalf with his precious burden through endlessly long corridors, they finally reached the royal quarters. The Company had mended this quarters hurriedly for him during the shameful days when Thorin himself had fallen deeper and deeper into his madness. He was grateful for the kindness now, and he intended to thank them later for it.

Only moments after Gandalf had lain Bilbo down onto the huge bed with its slightly dusty and age-old threadbare silk beddings, Dwalin joined them with Oin and a concerned Balin in tow.

Oin started tutting at him reproachfully when the older dwarf scrutinised Thorin and his injuries, but Thorin shook his head vehemently. “First you take care of him. Bilbo's your first priority.”

Oin glared stubbornly at him. “As much as I like the lad, my first priority is my king.”

Thorin glared back. “Then as your king I tell you to...”

“Stop this noisy quarrelling, you two,” Gandalf snapped, having settled Bilbo down comfortably. “I will take care of master Baggins, and you, Oin, will kindly look to Thorin's injuries.”

Oin nodded curtly, despite his grim appearance a satisfied, smug twitch playing at the corners of his mouth.

Thorin tried to stare Gandalf down, but the wizard had already started to dress Bilbo's wounds. Thorin had the highest fai... well, had faith in Gandalf's abilities as a wizard, but he didn't know what his qualities as a healer were. As it stood, Thorin would rather have Oin taking care of Bilbo, but he seemed overruled. Well, he was only the king, wasn't he, no need to abide to anything he commanded.

While Oin dressed his wounds, tutting and clucking the whole time while doing it, Thorin had a close eye on Gandalf's treatment of his hobbit, never letting Bilbo out of his sight. He almost didn't notice when the others left eventually, leaving him and Bilbo alone. Finally.

Suddenly bone-weary, Thorin shed the last of his clothes, and had the decency to at leave on his smallclothes before he crawled onto the huge bed, and slipped under the covers, wriggling as close to Bilbo as he dared. He wanted to hold him tight, but he didn't. Out of fear to worsen the hobbit's injuries, and because he didn't want to unnerve Bilbo should he awaken. He'd only confessed his feelings to him when Bilbo'd been unconscious, after all. Thorin didn't even know if Bilbo felt the same way he did. Being within touching distance to him, feeling his body's warmth, and hearing his soft breaths had to be enough for now.

The only concession to his desire he made was to put his hand on Bilbo's chest. The steady, strong drum under his palm lulled him to sleep within seconds.

 

When Thorin blinked awake, he had no idea how much time had passed. The only things he knew was that he felt rested, and that Bilbo was still unconscious beside him. He propped himself up on his elbow to better study his hobbit. He looked so peaceful, as if just sleeping, and warmth spread through Thorin at seeing him lying in Thorin's bed weren't it for the white bandage wrapped around Bilbo's head.

A grim determination suddenly grabbed a hold of Thorin, and he roughly swept his fears and concern over Bilbo away. He would be all right. Every other possibility just wasn't...

He sat up, and carefully climbed from the bed, regretfully leaving Bilbo's warmth. His body felt awfully sore, but he'd been hurt before, so nothing to moan about.

Limping his way into the luckily fully functioning bath chambers of his rooms, he gratefully sank into the vast tub after filling it with steaming hot water. Thorin didn't linger although he really would have liked to; he had to see to Bilbo's needs and comfort.

Feeling refreshed after having washed off all the grime and sweat and blood from the battle, Thorin carried a bowl with warm water and a sponge into his sleeping chambers. Clad only in some loose sleeping pants he'd found in the wardrobe, he settled down next to Bilbo, and set about peeling off the hobbit's dirty clothes to give him a sponge bath. When Bilbo awoke, Thorin wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible... and he himself desperately needed something to do, needed to be able to at least do anything for his hobbit, even if it was such a small gesture.

He had to grit his teeth in anger as, with every layer of clothing he cast away, nasty bruises were revealed marring Bilbo's soft skin. His hobbit shouldn't have had to fight, and if Thorin had any say in it, he never would again. Nonetheless, he was once more astonished about Bilbo's braveness, and he almost burst with pride because his hobbit had faced enemies unwaveringly a lesser being, even a dwarf, would have taken flight off. Nobody should ever question again the courage of hobbits.

But when he started to peel off Bilbo's trousers, there wasn't room for anger any more. Because now, confronted with Bilbo's nakedness, he was once again reminded how much he desired this astonishing being. Bilbo had carried away some bruises on his legs as well, but nothing so severe as what covered his upper body. No. Now, Thorin was faced with nothing but soft, pale skin stretched over firm flesh and sturdy legs. Gingerly, he touched the soft skin of Bilbo's thigh, only covered in equally as soft, downy blonde hair. Thorin's hand trembled at the contact, and he hastily drew back as if burned, and hurried to set to his task again. Gently, he washed Bilbo's legs and feet, but when he came to his groin area, Thorin had to stop once again for he simply  _had_ to look. His blood burned as he studied the flaccid member nestled in a patch of wiry dark blonde hair, and oh, how he wanted to touch such perfection. He yearned for him more in that moment than he ever had for the Arkenstone. But he couldn't. He would never betray Bilbo's trust like that. If he would be worthy enough to be allowed to touch Bilbo one day in passion, then because they both wanted it. And if Bilbo didn't feel as Thorin did... well, then he would have to accept that even if it broke his heart. 

He was painfully aroused by now, but he ignored his arousal viciously, and instead set to gently wash Bilbo's genitals, trying to be as detached as possible while doing it.

When he was done, Thorin tucked him in tightly once more. He himself nestled close next to the unconscious form, desperately wanting to curl around Bilbo to protect him.

He couldn't take his eyes from Bilbo, the only point they touched though were Thorin's fingers softly wrapping around a strand of Bilbo's locks. What he felt for Bilbo suddenly became so strong that the feelings threatened to choke him, that he would surely die if he ever lost Bilbo again.

“I know I'm not what you deserve,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, “but if you would have me, I were the luckiest being in all of Middle-Earth...”

He couldn't continue speaking, his emotions were too overwhelming. But in his head and his heart, Thorin Oakenshield once again promised Bilbo everything he could ever want and everything he deserved although that was much, much more than Thorin possessed. For Bilbo deserved more than all the gold and gems of Erebor, and certainly more than an old, stubborn dwarf who'd brought him nothing but pain.

Succumbing finally to his overwhelming emotions, Thorin fell asleep once more.

 

His head throbbed dreadfully when Bilbo awoke, even worse as it had earlier that day – at least he hoped that it still was the same day. But the pain at least was a good sign in his opinion for it showed that he was still alive.

Slowly, everything came back to him, and he jerked up in panic, instantly regretting it when the pain in his head exploded. For a few moments, he was forced to sit still for the blinding pain to abate, no matter how urgent his need was to find out how Thorin had fared.

While cowering in bed miserably, he suddenly heard soft breathing next to him. Gingerly, he turned his head, and the sight next to him made all the pain disappear in the blink of an eye. Thorin lay next to him. Alive! He looked exhausted and battered, but he was breathing. To Bilbo it was the most beautiful sight in the world. Tears of joy he couldn't and wouldn't control gathered in his eyes, and spilled over his cheeks. He couldn't contain the heaving sobs ripping from his chest either, and the noise made Thorin stir. He watched as the dwarf blinked awake, and when he spotted Bilbo, he sat up hastily.

“Bilbo!” he cried in concern, “what is the matter.”

At first, Bilbo couldn't speak, could only shake his head, and smile consolingly, but then he cleared his throat, and looked up at Thorin. “They are tears of joy,” he managed to get out around the lump in his throat. “I thought I had lost you.”

“No, you saved me,” Thorin replied vehemently. “You've save me in every manner one can be saved by another. You've not just saved my life. You've saved my soul and my heart as well.”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo breathed shakily.

Thorin took a deep breath. “I've confessed to you already when you were unconscious, but now it's time that you hear my words yourself.”

Bilbo nodded for him to go on, and curiously looked up at him. Thorin took another deep breath before he gathered all his courage.

“Bilbo Baggins, I'm not worthy to even breath the same air as you. What I did to you is unforgivable. I almost took your life, and I called you a traitor, though in truth you were the most loyal of all of my companions, doing what was right for me, even if it endangered you. And how did I repay this loyalty...”

Bilbo wanted to protest, but Thorin held up his hand to stop him. “But,” he continued, “all of this doesn't change how I feel. You are a better person than me, and if you may find it within you to maybe forgive me my cruelty, then I would promise you all that you wish... which I would give to you regardless, of course... I would give you all I have, all of my treasures, my kingdom, and myself. And I would be the most fortunate dwarf under the sun if you would stand by my side and rule this realm with me.”

For a few long moments, Bilbo said nothing, needing time to digest – or rather unriddle – everything Thorin had told him just now, well, babbled at him. While the hobbit quietly pondered the king's words, Thorin became more restless with every passing second. He had to stop himself from fidgeting anxiously, instead forcing himself to simply look at Bilbo calmly and expectantly.

Finally, the hobbit cocked his head, and looked up at Thorin. “Did you just ask me to marry you?” Bilbo's voice sounded part amused, part overwhelmed.

“I thought that was quiet obvious,” Thorin replied gruffly in embarrassment, feeling his cheeks heating.

“If I were a dwarf maybe.” Now, Bilbo definitely was amused. 

“You are the light of my forge,” he therefore tried to clarify further, but he had the feeling that he only made matters more complicated judging by the way Bilbo blinked at him in confusion. Obviously Bilbo didn't know that Thorin just made him the greatest compliment a dwarf could make to another who was dear to his heart. 

“I love you, Bilbo Baggins.” There, that was as plain and blunt as he could be, even if a little less traditional and formal than he would have wished. 

Bilbo quirked his lips. “That I understand, you idiot dwarf.” And with that, he put his hand in Thorin's thick mane, and drew him down for a demanding kiss.

The kiss, passionate as it may be, didn't last long because their bodies quickly started to protest when they started to let their hands wander over each other's skin.

With a pained whimper, Bilbo drew back, and smiled apologetically at Thorin. “Sorry. I think more strenuous activities have to wait.”

Thorin returned the smile. “I'll wait as long as we both need.”

For this, Bilbo pecked him quickly on the lips once more. “I love you, too, Thorin,” he whispered against Thorin's lips, and Thorin's heart soared with joy at those words so that he simply had to deepen the kiss once more.

“What do you say to a hot bath?” Thorin asked eventually after drawing back regretfully to which Bilbo sighed in pleasure. 

“That would be heavenly.”

“Then come.” Gingerly, Thorin climbed from the bed, and before Bilbo could protest, the dwarven king had swept him up in his arms to carry him into the bathroom.

Bilbo could do nothing more than cling to Thorin over the short distance, and when Thorin sat him down on a stone bench in the bathroom, Bilbo's face burned with embarrassment. “Thorin?”

“Hm?” the dwarf made while preparing the bath.

“Why am I naked?”

Thorin, his back to Bilbo, halted for a second before he poured a sweet smelling concoction made of various healing herbs into the big tub sunken into the floor. “Earlier, I gave you a sponge bath. I thought you would feel more comfortable without all the grime of the battle.”

“Oh,” Bilbo made.

“I'm sorry.”

“No, no. It's... it's all right... Thank you.”

Thorin gave a gruff noise as answer. When he'd turned off the water, he turned to Bilbo once more. The hobbit started to squirm under the intense gaze, and to his mortification, Bilbo realised that he started to become aroused. With all his might, he tramped down on the feelings, and instead allowed Thorin to carefully remove the bandages from around his head. Thorin made a satisfied noise. “Looks good. The wound stopped bleeding, and seems almost closed. Gandalf did a good job.”

Thorin bend down to pick Bilbo up to settle him into the tub, but the hobbit stopped him. He looked questioningly at him, but didn't say anything when Bilbo started to gently remove the bandage around Thorin's shoulder in return. Bilbo gasped slightly when he saw the angry wound Azog's blade had caused, now expertly stitched up by Oin. Gingerly, he reached out and touched the wound with a fingertip, tears gathering in his eyes.

Consolingly, Thorin put his hand over Bilbo's, and pressed them both gently against his shoulder. “I will always be proud of this wound because it will always remind me of your bravery. If you hadn't interfered, Azog would have buried his blade in my chest, surely ending my life.”

Bilbo nodded in acceptance, but he couldn't speak. Furiously, he blinked the tears away, and took a shuddering breath. “And your foot?” Bilbo asked with a slightly rough voice. “Don't think I didn't notice that.”

Thorin grinned sheepishly at him. “It hurts, yes, but it will heal. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“But I am,” Bilbo protested.

Thorin's grin softened to a gentle smile. “And I'm grateful for it. But in return, I'm also concerned about you.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I will be all right.”

Thorin nodded, and he didn't say out loud that Bilbo being all right eventually was probably only thanks to Gandalf's magic in the end. He startled, when he felt Bilbo's nimble fingers on the waistband of his trousers. He sucked in a breath, and then held it as Bilbo hesitantly shoved the cloth over Thorin's hips and down his legs where it pooled at his feet. Bilbo's hands lingered on Thorin's naked hips for a moment, and he studied him so intently that Thorin had to bring up all of his willpower to not react to this gaze or Bilbo's closeness physically.

He cleared his throat eventually which startled Bilbo out of his scrutinising. The hobbit blushed furiously, and averted his gaze. Thorin could only grin at that smugly, and once more picked his hobbit up to carefully settle them both in the warm water.

Bilbo moaned in pleasure as the soothing water flowed around him, and Thorin sat close behind him on the bench surrounding the pool's interior. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around the hobbit, unsure of his welcome, but Bilbo leaned back into Thorin's embrace, and laid his head on his shoulder. Bliss spread through the king, warming his innermost being much more than the warm water ever could.

For long, precious moments, they simply laid in each other's arms, and enjoyed being together, being alive together. Then, eventually, Thorin grabbed the soap from the brim of the pool, and started to gently wash all the blood and grime from Bilbo's hair, all the while being mindful of his head wound. Afterwards, he washed the rest of his hobbit's body, worshipping him with his caressing hands. Bilbo mewled softly at Thorin's ministrations, and writhed in his arms from pleasure, completely ignoring his body's aches. Thorin groaned at the sounds Bilbo made, and eventually, he couldn't stop himself. He gently, but decidedly turned him around, and pulled him onto his lap. They both gasped when their erections suddenly pressed together so intimately, and Thorin slipped his hand between them to encircle the hobbit's member with his big hand. Slowly, he began to stroke him firmly, all the while never taking his eyes from the breathtaking vision of his hobbit writhing and moaning in his arms, head thrown back in ecstasy, lost in pleasure.

And suddenly, it wasn't even nearly enough. He had to have more of Bilbo.

Carefully, mindful of Bilbo's injury, he gripped his hobbit tighter, and lifted him from the water. Ignoring Bilbo's surprised squeak, he laid him out on the floor next to the pool. He himself remained in he water, kneeling on the stone bank they'd just sat on, and drew Bilbo's legs around his waist. Then, he shared one smouldering look with Bilbo before Thorin bend down to take the hobbit's weeping member into his mouth.

Bilbo cried out at the sudden warm sensation, and his hands flew instinctively to Thorin's head, grabbing the raven strands there tightly.

The dwarf didn't mind, the sweet pain ripping a moan from him in return which vibrated all through his mouth and into Bilbo. The hobbit writhed under him in ecstasy, and his moans and cries were the sweetest sounds Thorin had ever heard.

Bilbo didn't last long. The sensation of having  _Thorin_ do this to him was too much eventually, and with a hoarse cry, he spent himself into the king's mouth. He sagged back exhaustedly onto the cool stone floor.

“Thorin,” Bilbo mumbled, and weakly tried to reach for Thorin to reciprocate. But Thorin shook his head mutely. Instead, he heaved himself from the water, and came to kneel between Bilbo's spread thighs. There, he gripped his rock-hard, aching member, and started to bring himself off to the sight before him. And oh, what a sight it was! His hobbit looked so delectable, lying there utterly debauched, his cheeks flushed from exertion and passion, his golden curls sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving. Thorin groaned at the sight, it being enough for him to send him over the edge. Never taking his eyes from Bilbo while stroking himself to completion, he shuddered as he suddenly spent himself over his hobbit, the pearly drops of his seed decorating Bilbo's stomach and spent member.

Bilbo groaned as Thorin's warm seed splattered on him. The sensation and utter filthiness of this action almost enough to rouse him again.

But only almost, he was much too spend to even lift a finger, and his head started to pound again once more painfully. There would be other occasions where he could reciprocate. Many, many occasions. He had the rest of his life to get to know Thorin completely.

Therefore, he didn't protest as Thorin gently pulled him back into the water, his head pounding slightly, but the pain was dulled when he could rest his head comfortingly on Thorin's broad chest, encircled by his arms.

He was on the brink of sleep when the last thing he heard was Dwalin's frantic cry as he obviously came storming into the bathroom, proclaiming that Kili had found his brother up on Ravenhill, hurt but alive!

With a joyous smile, Bilbo succumbed to sleep in Thorin's arms.

**End**

 


End file.
